


Baby Steps

by hellbend



Category: A3! (Anime), A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Daycare, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Member Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Minor Furuichi Sakyou/Tachibana Izumi, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slice of Life, izumi as the maternal figure in everyone's lives, sakyoizu are going to be parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbend/pseuds/hellbend
Summary: Spring is coming. The world is shedding the blanket of winter and being reborn again. Mother Nature is heaving a sigh as she wakes up and blowing the last of the winter winds away to welcome a new season - one of hope, new beginnings, second chances. The days and the nights are once again going to be filled with the songs of all her children - plants and animals alike. The world is turning, and time is racing with it. Except for Itaru, it seems like he's stuck in time. Weighted down at the ankles by grief and resentment that can't seem to bear the thought of him moving with the world.One might say he's lost at sea. And Mankai Childcare Centre is his lighthouse, guiding him back to the shore. Guiding him back home. Spring is here.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59





	Baby Steps

**Author's Note:**

> \- i'd like to thank user [aitachis_](https://twitter.com/aitachis_) on twitter for their prompt that heavily inspired this fic. i deviated a lot to write my own story but i've absorbed some elements from her prompt that was a major reason i started writing this. thank you, ram, for doing lord's work.
> 
> \- Content Warnings: Mentions of: Car Accident, Family Member Death and descriptions of Grief. Injury Recovery, also ANGST!!!!
> 
> \- typos to be ignored

Winter is thawing into spring and nature is letting out a huge yawn as it emerges from under the melting blanket of snow, blinking the sleep out of its eyes. Itaru can feel Mother Nature’s sleepy smile on him, present in the atmosphere as one might feel rain and snow. It fills him with warmth, caressing tenderly the aching hole in his chest - the unavoidable glaring declaration of something missing, something that’s been ripped out violently. Itaru himself doesn’t know what it is.

His footsteps are heavy, and yet he feels like he’s inches above the ground, the void of space attempting to suck him up like a vacuum cleaner would the lint on someone’s carpet. He feels like he’s worth just that - an unnecessary fragment of a human being, some kind of dead weight, an uninteresting book on a library shelf collecting dust. There’s nothing sadder than a book that’s never been opened. 

He feels sad - in every element of the word. Like a child incapable of articulating their emotions in all of their complexity, he just feels _sad_. Like there’s a weight pressing down on him, a vacuum inside that cavity that’s formed in his chest and the craters dotting the expanse of his soul formed from the events of the past few weeks. The world around him feels shrouded in this fog of misery, scenes and colours blurring into smudges of paint every time he steps into it.

When will this end.

Not a question, a statement. The past few weeks following the accident have felt like years. Itaru feels unbalanced, like a spinning top on the verge of falling over or a planet that’s lost a sensing of its axis, thrown out of orbit into the directionless vastness of space.

Time is standing still for him. It feels like he’s lived a lifetime in those weeks - watching the planets shoot past him as he remains stationary and pinned into the vacuum. Winter melting into spring, spring ripening into summer, summer withering into autumn and autumn freezing into winter again. A turbulent of emotions - that’s what he’s been experiencing, according to his psychologist. 

Tsumugi is a rare find among psychologists for Itaru - he’s patient and kind and there are instances where the professional barrier breaks as he offers Itaru cakes for tea and talks to him like a friend, not a patient. 

Which is why Itaru feels especially worse today; the guilt of skipping their appointment unannounced adds to everything else.

His phone buzzes again and again, but he reaches into his pocket to switch it off for good, tears stinging his eyes. Every step feels laboured, followed by a faint jolt of pain along his left leg. Every time that happens, Itaru is transported back in memory to the seat of his car, its front steaming and wrapped around a tree and his knee pinched between the dash and his seat. Taste of blood, the sharpness of glass in his face and a pain so numbing, he doesn’t even feel it.

Every night he’s taken back to it in different ways.

The sun is sinking on the horizon, the sky stained with the colours of the sunset - passionate shades of red circling the star on the edge of the world, romantic shades of pink and warm shades of orange waltzing across the darkening sky in a final fantastic display of the sun’s flair. 

Itaru can’t stop to admire it and he keeps his eyes on the ground, the tip of his cane clicking weakly against the cemented pavement as he walks, only jerked out of his depressive echo chamber when he hears the sound of a child crying softly. The wind carries the sound to him, lassoing him towards the sound so he follows it, much against his will. 

It pulls him to a playground. A small boy is perched on top of the monkey bars, clutching the bars tightly with his small hands and toes curled in his socks in fright. His teary eyes are trained on the ground that must look incredibly far and daunting for a boy his age. He looks a pitiful sight with his snotty nose and a voice just short of wailing. There’s not another adult in sight, nor anyone that seems to be looking for a lost child. 

Itaru goes over to the monkey bars and looks up at the boy. “What’s wrong? Where are your parents, kiddo?” 

The small boy looks at him, his lips trembling. “I can’t come down.” 

Itaru looks at him, takes in his hair that is an odd shade of pink and eyes to match. His nose is pink from the crying and rubbing. The terror is evident in his eyes, and it melts Itaru’s heart. For the first time in a while, Itaru feels a little tingle of warmth in his chest as emotion floods in. He puts his cane down and reaches out with both arms towards the child. 

“Come on.” He’s surprised at how soft and kind his voice sounds. The tenderness in his tone is something foreign to him, but in general, it feels like he’s on autopilot, mind fixed on the kid stuck on top of the monkey bars, whose crying has toned down a bit just so he can look at Itaru skeptically. 

Itaru can probably guess what the child is thinking: “My mother told me not to talk to strangers.” 

“I’ll catch you,” Itaru promises. “You can trust me.” 

Trust. 

Itaru will chide himself later for using that word so loosely, but it seems like the only thing that can get the boy to nudge himself off the top of the monkey bars and fall right into the open arms that are waiting for him. Itaru catches him, true to his promise, but the weight on his knee sends a disorientating pain shooting throughout his leg and spreading to his whole body, making his muscles seize up and nerves spark painfully with the sensation. 

He falls down as well, the boy safely cradled in his arms against his chest, as he lands with a thud, tears stinging his eyes and a hiss escaping from between his teeth. He bites back a swear word as the child wipes his wet nose on his tie, sniffling and hiccuping nervously. But he clings onto Itaru for dear life, small hands tugging at the back of his jacket, small face buried in his chest, small legs wrapped around his waist not unlike a koala on its mother. He trembles and Itaru doesn’t have the heart to push him off, like he’s tempted to.

“What’s your name?” Itaru asks, gently rubbing the kid’s back.

Through a hiccup, the boy replies, “Sakuya.” 

“Okay, Sakuya, see? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Itaru manages a smile, cradling Sakuya’s head in the hopes that the gesture finally eases the crying and hiccuping. “Where are your parents?” 

“Don’t have them,” Sakuya mumbles, his voice shrinking so that Itaru has to strain to hear him. The man’s heart clenches at the small voice uttering the loneliest words he’s ever heard from a child. He really doesn’t know how to respond to that.

The wind blows through his hair, kneading his scalp like invisible fingers in a manner that pulls out the memory of his mother’s kind face as she asked him, “What’s wrong?”, kissed his papercut tenderly and put a bandage over it. Itaru wishes she were here now, to patch his knee up, hold his hand and show him where he should go after this. 

“Well, let’s get you home, alright?” Itaru finally gently nudges Sakuya off him and gets to his feet, taking his cane in one hand and Sakuya’s fingers in the other. “Do you know the way?” 

Sakuya nods, head bowed still as he walks and Itaru walks beside him, keeping his strides as short as possible so he can match Sakuya’s pace. The evening is silent, and the roads of the cosy little neighbourhood are empty except for the odd athlete on their evening run or a student cycling home. 

“What were you doing all alone in the park?” Itaru attempts to start a conversation. 

Sakuya kicks at the ground. “We were playing hide and seek and I got lost,” He admits. “I got bored. I wanted to try the monkey bars.” A story that’s easy enough to understand, Itaru concludes, smiling fondly at the familiar sentiments of ripe and fearless curiosity so characteristic of young children. 

The world wears that down as you grow older and Itaru is aware many adults deem it a dangerous trait or equate it to obliviousness but he knows better. It’s not obliviousness or stupidity that gets these kids in situations like this. It’s the need to try something new, uncaring of the results. 

The world rips that away from you as you grow up, equating your worth to your productive capacity and considering a failed attempt as wasted effort. Itaru lives his days like this - painfully aware of what the world is doing to him, but like every other adult stuck in the ruthless cycle of life in a society such as this, he has no choice but to play along. 

“I can’t do the monkey bars,” Sakuya says, “It’s too high and I get scared of falling.” 

“It’s okay,” Itaru tells him. “You can try tomorrow.” 

“I can’t!” Sakuya whines. “Only the big kids play on that playground. I’ll have to wait till I’m older.” 

“Big kids?” Itaru can’t help feeling skeptical.

“Yeah!” Sakuya agrees. “They’re this many - “ He holds up 7 fingers, “and I’m only this many.” He then puts down one finger. “I can try next year. If I fall, the others will laugh at me.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve, blushing in embarrassment. 

Itaru feels a burst of fondness. “But won’t it be _so_ cool if you could do it while only being this many?” He mirrors Sakuya’s action and holds up 6 fingers. “Everyone would want to be your friend, then!” 

Sakuya’s eyes sparkle as he looks at Itaru, fists clenched excitedly. “Really? You think so?”

Itaru nods, in a childishly exaggerated manner. “Mm-hm! Absolutely!” 

“But if I fall, they’ll laugh at me.” Sakuya sticks his lower lip out in a pout.

“You’re not falling!” Itaru assures him. “You’re just flying with gravity.” 

Sakuya blinks at him, and gives no indication that he has understood the joke so Itaru chuckles nervously. Probably not the best joke to make around a kid. “Nevermind, kiddo. You’ll figure it out when - “ 

_When you’re older_ , Itaru wants to say but that feels like a lie. _When you’re older, when you’re older, when you’re older_ \- they say that things will make sense when you’re older, that as a child, you’re supposed to not know anything and that your youth is supposed to be confusing and that by adulthood you will have it figured out. That adulthood has the answers. But Itaru isn’t any less confused and lost as an adult than he was as a child or teenager. 

“You’ll understand when you’re older” is one of the many lies told to a child. There are some things you will never find the answers to, even as an adult.

Sakuya shrugs dismissively. “Whatever. As long as I’m flying, it’s okay.” Itaru wishes he could take back his words because he’s certain he might have planted an idea in this kid’s head that will not end safely. 

They stop outside Mankai Childcare Centre, much to Itaru’s initial confusion. But that confusion quickly dissolves when Sakuya rings the bell and a young woman opens the door, taking Sakuya tightly into her embrace, her voice thick from worried crying. “Oh, thank god, you’re safe,” She says and kisses him a few times on his cheek. 

“Ew!” Sakuya flinches at each kiss. “I’m too young to kiss girls!” Itaru suppresses a snort.

Then, he breaks free from her embrace and races into the brightly lit room, that’s filled with dozens of other small and excited voices yelling his name in greeting. 

“Thank you so much,” The woman says, taking Itaru’s hand and squeezing it between two of her own. 

Her face is streaked with tears and her nose is pink, not unlike Sakuya’s when Itaru first found him. She’s wearing a flowy evening dress that hugs her swollen belly perfectly, which she cradles protectively with both her arms when she leaves his hand. Itaru feels bad for her - the stress of a missing child and the exhaustion of pregnancy seems to have done a number on her today.

“I’m Izumi Furuichi,” She says, smiling at him. “I run this childcare centre with my husband. He went out looking for Sakuya a while ago. I’d best give him a call and tell him he’s returned already.” 

“Itaru Chigasaki. And of course. I’m glad I could be of help.” Itaru nods, smiling despite his own weariness as he leans against his cane. The microscopic gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Izumi, who opens the door a little wider to invite him inside. 

“You can come in,” She offers. “My husband will be back in a while after I call him. I’m sure he’d like to thank you himself.”

“Oh, no, I’d hate to trouble you - “ 

“Really,” She insists. “It’s no problem. I’ve made a little extra hot chocolate, anyway.” 

The way she says that purposefully, Itaru has to avert his attention to his own reflection in the glass window beside the doorway to ensure his feelings haven’t been written on his face in black marker. Her eyes are a warm sunset shade, that melt the fatigue off his bones and push the general distrust to the back of his mind. 

The ghost of her touch still lingers on his head - soft, healing and _maternal_ owing to the extra weight she’s gained because of pregnancy that has made her palms fleshy. 

Once again and not for the first time that day, Itaru misses his mother. He misses her _so_ much. There’s no other way to put it - he wants to be held like a child and kissed on the forehead with promises of everything being okay. 

Izumi radiates that warmth now as she smiles kindly at him, one hand holding the door open and the other gently stroking her belly. That warmth lassoes him in, making him gravitate into the centre not out of his own conscious will. As she closes the door behind him, he instantly feels the richness in the air of the room. 

The centre is a hub of life and activity. He’s in a vast room with shiny wooden floors and… it’s full of children. The entire space seems to have trapped some sort of ripe magic of childhood within it - from the beautiful mural behind the admin desk to the many cartoon characters painted on the walls of the interactive space where most of the children are gathered, shrieking in delight at something or the other. There’s a clothing line running along the length of the rectangular room, with children’s paintings pinned and waiting to dry.

It’s so full of colour and life and magic - just the right environment for a child to thrive in. It’s like he’s stepped into a different dimension; the loud and unbearable cruel noises of the world outside feel faraway, and the doors seem to have locked all his worry and tiredness out as well. 

Outside, winter still lingers. Inside here, spring is in full bloom. 

“Would you like to meet the kids?” Izumi asks as she waddles to the kitchen and Itaru is quick to gently put that off. 

“It’s alright,” He says, “I’d rather help you. It’s the least I can do.” She doesn’t argue, and smiles at him. 

Every time she does so, a jolt goes through him at the way her face resembles his mother’s. His gaze can’t leave the back of her head as he follows her into the kitchen. From this angle, she looks exactly like his mother; it makes that gaping hole in him ache again. 

On the kitchen table, sits another boy, dark hair falling over his eyes and tongue sticking out between his lips as he scribbles on the paper with the crayon. He looks up immediately when he hears Izumi enter and immediately slides off the chair with his drawing to show it to her. 

“Look, I drew you!” He announces. 

“That’s lovely, Masumi,” Izumi responds in a preoccupied tone, pinching his chin gently and affectionately in response. “Why don’t you go outside and play with the others while I prepare supper?” 

“No, I want to be with you,” He responds, stubbornly. Then, he notices Itaru. “Who is he?” 

“A friend,” Izumi says, with no hesitation though the two of them haven’t even known each other long enough to be considered acquaintances. “Please go and play with the other kids, Masumi. I’m going to need the table to prepare your plates.” 

“Will you be done soon?” 

“I will, treasure, I promise,” Izumi promises him. 

Masumi sighs, scoops his art materials off the table and leaves the kitchen. Itaru can catch the boy’s faint smile in response to the nickname just before he disappears into the front room. 

Itaru does his best to help by slicing the apples while Izumi calls her husband and distributes the raisins and small cheese cubs evenly across the many plates laid out on the table while she pours out the hot chocolate. 

“I hope I’m not keeping you from getting back home, I’m so sorry,” She says as she hands him a mug. 

“No, it’s fine,” He assures her. “I don’t have anywhere to be right now.” He internally winces at how pathetic he sounds. Izumi, for the millionth time, smiles at him in acknowledgement like his mother did and he looks away quickly. 

Izumi calls the children in and they come in like an avalanche of arms and legs and excited shrieking. The sound and sight of them alone seems to suck out all the energy from Itaru as he watches them push each other to get the plate with the cheese cubes they all think are the biggest.

“Hey!” Izumi’s voice is loud and cutting and breaks through the din, flanked by a stern clap that pauses all the motion and leaves the children blinking at her guiltily. “Get into a line and wait your turn or no TV tomorrow!” 

It seems as though a switch is flipped and all the children fall into line immediately, meekly taking their plates and saying “Thank you” as they walk out. Itaru hides his smile behind a sip of his hot chocolate, feeling its sweetness send a hot dose of relaxed energy seeping into his body. 

“You’re really not in the state to be doing this, you know,” A deeper and more gruff voice states. Itaru straightens as a man, whom he correctly assumes to be the husband, enters the kitchen. His face is flushed and he has a plastic bag in his hand which he holds out to his wife. “Here, this should last for your next 4 cravings at least.” 

“Welcome back,” Izumi responds, pausing in preparing another plate to take the bag from him. Itaru watches, partly in admiration and partly in horror, as she takes out the large bag of gummies and empties a quarter of it onto her own plate. He says nothing, and takes another sip.

“Sakyo Furuichi.” Itaru takes a moment to realise he’s the one being addressed and responds accordingly, using up every ounce of strength not to shrink under the sharp and unyielding gaze that’s pinned him down. 

“Itaru Chigasaki.” 

“Thank you for taking care of Sakuya,” Sakyo says. With his voice and whole demeanour, the “taking care” sounds ominous and foreboding enough to send chills down Itaru’s back. 

“It wasn’t a problem.” 

Izumi slaps Sakyo gently on the shoulder. “Stop scaring him. He’s our honoured guest, you know.” She says this through half a mouthful of gummies. 

“Disgusting,” Sakyo responds, more to her than Itaru. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Honestly, he sounds endeared more than disgusted. 

“Anyways,” Izumi says, ignoring her husband completely. She hands Itaru a plate, which he tries to refuse but she forces it into his hand. “We should probably go outside and watch the kids before they create a big mess or something.” 

“I’ll walk Itaru to the door then,” Sakyo offers. “Or I could drive him home, too, if he’s comfortable with that.” 

“What?” Izumi scrunches her eyebrows. “No, he’s staying until we’re done with supper. Aren’t you, treasure?” Itaru completely understands Masumi’s response to the nickname - it’s warm and it equates him to something of incredible value. There’s something about it that makes him feel overwhelmingly loved. He can’t find it in himself to respond without his voice shaking. 

Izumi takes his lack of objection as an agreement and leads the two of them out. She has to cling onto the both of them - one arm tightly looped through her husband’s and the other hand loosely holding onto Itaru’s elbow for support. Itaru doesn’t mind. 

Her touch reminds him of his mother’s. She reminds him of his mother. 

* * *

  
  


Meeting the kids is nothing short of an adventure. He doesn’t go and talk to each one of them, obviously, but he seems to pick up on every little thing like he’s reading a book. The kids _adore_ Izumi and hesitate not even for a second to crowd around her to either tattle on one another or boast an achievement (Either ranging from finishing all their raisins to fitting 2 apple slices in their mouths). 

Sakyo acts as crowd control to make sure she isn’t completely overwhelmed by the attention. 

Itaru clutches especially tightly onto his cane after the one named Banri takes it and tries to chase the one named Juza out of their DuckDuckGo circle with it. Then, the two of them lock in a massive tug-off war and a brawl, mediated by Sakyo when he grabs them by the collars and pulls them apart, not unlike a lion picking its child up by the scruff of its neck. 

“They’re a lively bunch,” Itaru comments, not finding any other appropriate compliment. 

Izumi hums in agreement. While Itaru was observing the other kids, Masumi found his place beside Izumi, his head resting in her lap as he quietly soaks in the conversation among the three adults. Out of every other kid, he seems to be the one most attached to her. The whole time, her hand rests on his head, absently kneading his scalp gently and prompting his eyelids to droop sleepily.

Izumi fondly introduces Itaru to the rest, pointing out one child after another and he does his best to remember. She says all their names with a fondness specific to a mother’s. 

“Is this your first child?” He asks, unprompted in the middle of the conversation. 

“I would say yes, truthfully,” She laughs and then her face softens. “But the others… they’re nothing short of my children as well, honestly.” 

His eyes sting faintly with tears again, but out of a different emotion. He doesn’t feel sad right now.

Tsuzuru stumbles up to them, cheese still sticking to the corner of his lips as he holds up a wad of papers. He’s one of the older and quieter ones. Itaru notes that while Banri and Juza were causing a ruckus, Tsuzuru was quietly scribbling something in the corner. 

“What’s this, dear?” Izumi asks, gently taking the papers from Tsuzuru. The stack should be nothing short of 50 sheets at least, but Izumi expresses no surprise. She sounds like she already expects the answer.

“I wrote a story,” Tsuzuru says. He has an adorable lisp so it comes out as ‘thtory’. “Can you read it out for us before bed tonight?” 

Masumi shoots up immediately from Izumi’s lap. “Unfair! I already chose the story for tonight! Your turn is tomorrow!”

“Then, you can have tomorrow!” Tsuzuru argues. 

“No fair!”

“Don’t be stupid!” 

Gasps ripple across the group of children who have been quietly watching the show. 

“Tsuzuru just said the S-word!” Taichi whispers to Banri in a scandalised tone.

“I can say it better,” Banri retorts.

Sakyo sighs and looks like he’s about to say something before Sakuya bravely steps in between Masumi and Tsuzuru. “It’s okay, we can read Tsuzuru’s now and Masumi’s tonight. Tomorrow, we can watch TV a little longer instead.” 

There is courage in his voice, even though he seems a little nervous. His eyes are jovial and his smile blooms across his face, a stark contrast to the state Itaru found him in. 

“Yes, of course,” Izumi agrees, pride evident in her voice. Sakuya promptly forces Tsuzuru and Masumi to hold hands in reconciliation and leads them off to join the other boys. 

“They’re lovely.” The comment slips from Itaru’s mouth with a sigh, before he can even stop himself. 

This place feels like paradise. There’s something about sitting and drinking something warm while watching the children tumble over each other in a game of DuckDuckGo or lie in a circle and draw together. _It’s the little things_ , Itaru concludes, _always the little things that make all the difference_. 

As he finishes his raisins and gets ready to put the plate and mug in the kitchen, he’s taken down in an avalanche of small bodies as the children excitedly cluster around him. He has no idea what’s going on.

“I won rock-papers-scissors which means _you_ have to read us ‘Zuru’s story,” Tenma proclaims, tugging on Itaru’s sleeve as Itaru sits up. 

The kid seems more excited about having won the rock-paper-scissors than having a stranger read them a story, but Itaru can’t refuse. The kids tumble onto him, with Taichi draping himself over Itaru’s left shoulder and Juza leaning against his right. Sakuya and Muku rest their chins on Itaru’s knees, kicking their legs excitedly as they lay on their bellies. 

The littlest one - Kumon - crawls up to Itaru and curls up in his lap, taking the tip of his tie and biting it experimentally. Yuki and Masumi eye him skeptically but move in closer anyway. Tsuzuru sits right in front, eyes trained on him as if to catch him if he narrates wrongly.

Itaru sighs, but can’t help the smile on his face. “Once upon a time…” 

The kids listen intently as he spins the story, following the skeletal framework of a story Tsuzuru has scrawled in crayon, the pages stained with marker ink in some places as well. He fills in some of his own details, but Tsuzuru doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, with every new detail, his eyes light up a bit brighter.

He sounds completely different to himself - calm, focused, put together. But it comes to him naturally, as he takes in the sight of their faces, enamoured by the story and watching him with a little bit of awe. 

Children look at adults that way - with expectations and yearning for adulthood. It’s knowing that these children expect something of him that keeps Itaru going confidently, despite his initial nervousness and reluctance. As an adult, and painfully aware of the world full of disappointments that’s waiting for them as they age, he feels somewhat responsible for giving them every bit of reason for joy and satisfaction in the moments that he shares with them. 

He imagines parents must feel this at a greater scale about the children they love. Not every child is lucky to grow up in a good family, and should there be any children among these that face the same fate, Itaru wants to be one of the reasons they are happy today. 

He realises now. Nobody ever truly has their life figured out. Everyone’s still feeling their way around, and they’re just as lost as he is. 

He’s stuck on this deserted island of adulthood with everyone else - just as lost as they are. And yet, no man is an island. He’s not ever totally alone, is he? 

It feels like spring has bloomed in his chest, flowers growing in that gaping hole and patching him up. He knows this is temporary; as soon as he goes out of here, he’ll feel the gravity of all his responsibilities and grief and resentment all over again. 

But it’s a start. A small start. It is progress. Baby steps.

_“You’ll understand when you’re older.”_ Yes, he reckons he’s starting to understand now. Of course, he will never truly understand everything - only the things that really matter. 

* * *

  
  


“Are their parents not coming to pick them up?” He asks Izumi later as he piles the dishes into the sink. He’s referring to the children that are still left in the front room, making a beeline for the bathrooms to brush their teeth before bed.

Izumi sighs heavily, as if to mask the sound of her heart breaking. Itaru hears it crack anyway. “No,” She says finally. “They’re the children who don’t have families to go back to, or whose families don’t really consider them a priority.” 

Itaru misses the kids’ family, on their behalf. The result of parental neglect will hit them later on in life when it impairs the way they interact with other people and view relationships. It’s something that’s debilitating and Itaru, somehow and stupidly, hopes that him feeling for them now - in the full intensity of abandonment and loneliness - can absorb the heartbreak of them finding out later.

It doesn’t work that way of course. Their emotional battles are one that Itaru can’t protect them from, no matter how badly he wishes to do so. 

“You’re going to be a great mother,” He says, his voice just above a whisper. He’s clutching the kitchen platform tightly. ‘You’re a great mother’ is what he’d wanted to say to his own mom when she’d been alive, but never had the chance to. Consumed by foolish pride and the zeal to live his adulthood carelessly without his parents at the reins, he’d been so quick to leave his family behind. 

Careless in keeping touch with them, Itaru had had barely 3 months with his mother before the cancer took her life.

“Thank you, Itaru,” Izumi says, taking his hand and squeezing it. “For the compliment, for bringing Sakuya back and for staying to see the kids. They really liked your story.” 

“It’s quite a surprise,” Itaru laughs out. “I’ve never thought of myself as a likeable person.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Izumi mutters, with a knowing smile on her face. “I’m glad you had fun, too.” She says that in the same purposeful tone as her hot chocolate proposal that convinced him to stay when he first arrived in the evening. Her eyes are gentle and her face is young but her gaze carries this weight of wisdom and perception that Itaru feels on himself whenever they make eye contact. 

He knows what this is. It’s a bittersweet realisation - something in the universe shifted to bring him to her door, to have him invite her inside. Everything has been delicately planned to have him placed in this kitchen beside her, to introduce him to this little pocket of magic that is Mankai Childcare Centre. 

Which also means that he won’t be seeing her after today. She might just disappear, and this meeting would feel like nothing but a fever dream. 

People aren’t permanent and ones like her - that come into your life exactly when you need them without realising what you needed - are especially momentary. She’s a fleeting moment. Itaru doesn’t believe in much but he believes in Fate and he knows that today’s happenings were pre-written in the constellations even before he was born, as was everything before today.

He can’t help looking at her, and the longer he stares the more she resembles his mother.

He misses his mother so much.

She looks at him, and smiles tenderly. She doesn’t say anything and they stand in silence, but he feels the tingle of a hug and comfort flooding him as he soaks in her presence. 

Then, she says something that startles him with a force powerful enough to shift him back into his axis, pin him right back into his orbit. 

“Spring is coming, Itaru,” She says softly from where she’s seated on the chair at the table. “Spring is a season of new beginnings. Of hope. The world is reborn and it’s the start of a new cycle of nature. Every spring, from your first breath to your last, is a new chance for you. In a world of tomorrow’s, spring is the biggest Tomorrow. The mother of second chances. What will you do with yours?”

It shatters him. Against his will, he’s crying with hot tears burning trails on his cheeks. He heaves silent sobs, kneeling down until he can rest his forehead gently on Izumi’s knee. His own knee screams with pain under his weight, as the flashes of the accident emerge on the back of his eyelids when he squeezes his eyes shut. But then, those ugly memories seem to dissolve and yield to the years of grief and regret that are finally unravelling inside him. 

The warmth of Izumi’s hand running through his hair patiently as his tears soak the material of her gown send a flood of warmth and safety through him. He feels like a child again, cradled safe in his mother’s embrace where the cruelties of the world and the evils can’t ever reach him. Where he’s her prince and the apple of her eye. Where his mistakes and shortcomings are forgiven. 

His mother’s hug wasn’t just the small expanse of a coil of arms. It was a world of mercy, compassion and forgiveness. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time and something he’s painfully aware he took for granted when he had it. 

He misses his mother so much. 

He feels sucked back into this black hole of a memory at Izumi’s words, tugged back to his mother’s hospital room where she breathed her last breath.

All those months of suffering he’d been absent, only to see her at her worst and at Death’s door. It must have been humiliating and heartbreaking for her to have seen him that way after so many years. 

He can still feel the crisp papery touch of her withered and calloused hands on his cheeks today. And her last words to him, with a trembling smile on her face. 

_“Spring is coming, treasure. Have you seen the flowers in the courtyard? They’re already blooming.”_

Spring is coming. 

A flower unfurls in his chest, unleashing a fragrance he recognises as hope. It fills him to the brim. 

As he continues to cry, falling apart in Izumi’s merciful embrace, he can even taste nectar in his tears.

* * *

  
  
  


“You sure you don’t need anyone to drive you home?” Izumi asks later as he’s finally taking his leave. 

“No, you’ve already done so much for me,” Itaru expresses, “Thank you, really.” 

Sakuya bounds up to him in his pajamas, ignoring Izumi’s protests (“It’s past your bedtime already!”) and grabs Itaru’s hand. “Come to the playground with me next time, please?” He asks. “I really want to do the monkey bars.” 

Itaru laughs, bending down to Sakuya’s height. “I think you can manage enough on your own, little man.”

“No, I can’t.” Sakuya shakes his head vigorously. “You’re supposed to catch me if I fall.” 

“Oh, but - “ 

“You told me to trust you,” Sakuya reminds him. _Trust_. 

Sakyo steps in, a disapproving look on his face. “Don’t do anything dangerous. You might break your leg.” 

Sakuya turns and shoots him a stubborn glare. “Then I’ll just fix it with glue and start walking again!”

It’s something that triggers another laugh from Itaru and he realises he’s laughed the most tonight than any other day for years. This place really feels like magic. He ruffles Sakuya’s hair. “I believe in you, kiddo. Just make sure to give me a call before you try anything scary on the big kids’ playground, alright?” 

Sakuya nods, and then hugs Itaru tightly. Before Itaru can register the gesture, the boy scurries back to the shared bedroom and disappears behind the door. 

“You’re always welcome to visit,” Izumi tells him as he’s stepping out of the door. 

“Make sure to call first,” Sakyo reminds him, but then smiles ever so slightly. “You’re always welcome here, just as long as we’re informed so we can prepare the meals accordingly.”

Itaru, now empty of tears, can’t express his gratitude enough so he mumbles another feeble “Thank you” before they all wish each other goodnight. 

As soon as the door closes behind him, Itaru braces himself for the crushing sadness again and begins to walk in the direction of the bus stop. The neighbourhood is quiet in the still night, save for the faint drone of chatter from lit living rooms and clinking of cutlery as dinners are served. Vines crawl over the fences and from the bottom, buds have started to peek out ever so slightly. 

Itaru inhales the watery diluted scent of spring still under the blanket of winter. Second chance’s just around the corner.

_Spring is coming_ , he tells himself. _Hang in there_.

**Author's Note:**

> \- this work has a seasonal touch to it (pun intended) since i'm writing it 2 days before the new year begins and while i am aware spring doesn't start on new year's day, i wanted the message for the coming year to be conveyed this way anyways. 2020 has been a really tough year make sure to celebrate the fact you've survived it because living takes courage and this year especially demanded a lot of it. celebrate even what feels like the bare minimum because you deserve it. regardless of whatever 2020 has brought us and whatever it has brought you, i hope 2021 will be better. 
> 
> \- this was a more healing and emotional piece compared to my last work and i hope it was an enjoyable read!! despite the sad parts and the angst. thank you so much for reading every kudo / comment / click means a lot to me.


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